


Homecoming

by mithrel



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Blanket Permission, Drawing, First Kiss, Homecoming, M/M, Podfic Welcome, alternate endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-24
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:18:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turlough returns to Trion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

Turlough sat on his bunk on the Trion spaceship. Already he was regretting leaving the Doctor, for several reasons. The girl…Peri, was it?…had struck him as something of an idiot, and he was regretting leaving the Doctor with her. Also, he wasn’t at all sure that he would be welcome on Trion, Captain Lomand’s assurances notwithstanding. He tried to tell himself that if they wanted to be rid of him they could have left him on Sarn to die ( _but they must have known I could have left with the Doctor_ ) and that if they wanted to execute him they wouldn’t bother taking him home to do it, but he was less than convinced.

Malkon was nervous, but nowhere near as worried as Turlough was. But then, he didn’t remember Trion, and he hadn’t actually done anything to deserve his exile; the Trion government just hadn’t wanted to waste resources on a “bad seed,” so they’d exiled him as well.

He reflected on the eccentricities of time-travel. He’d been exiled only three years ago, at sixteen, but he’d ended up on Sarn more than a decade in his own future, so Malkon was now almost as old as he was.

He wasn’t sure how to react to Malkon; he’d been friendly enough, and seemed a decent sort, perhaps because he grew up away from Trion. He would probably be all right. But Turlough…

Sarn was the planet for civilian criminals. Earth was reserved for members of the military. _Ex-members,_ he thought wryly. He’d just completed his training when the war began. His parents were smuggling supplies to the other side, and he’d been fed up with the way the government was running things, so he’d deserted ( _not enough in itself to merit exile_ ), defected ( _he’d be exiled if he were caught_ ), and used his knowledge of their strategy to help wipe out an entire squad ( _he’d been lucky to be exiled, rather than killed_ ).

Now he was heading home. It would take three days to get to Trion, even with the neutrino drive. His first evening there Lomand had paid him a visit.

“Ensign Commander Vislor Turlough?”

“Sir!” Turlough replied, snapping to attention despite himself. Trion military training was rigorous, and he still had some vestiges of the chain of command that had been drummed into his head. Teachers and school penalties held no terror for one who’d been a Trion soldier.

Lomand smiled indulgently. “At ease, Ensign.” He noticed Turlough’s faint wince. “Something wrong?”

“I’d…prefer not to be addressed by my rank, sir.”

“So you’re not re-enlisting, then?”

He’d been surprised. The captain had noticed. “We could use you.”

“No.” The thought of being in the military again was repellant, no matter what changes had been made on Trion.

“Do you have any idea what you want to do when you get home?”

Turlough had paused. He hadn’t thought about it. He’d assumed he wouldn’t be allowed to choose what he was going to do next. “I don’t know.” He didn’t really have any talents, except… “I like to draw.” It sounded stupid, now that he told someone, but art had been one of the few classes that hadn’t bored him to tears.

“Hm. My uncle is head of the Kuraiyon Institute. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Turlough’s mouth dropped open. The Kuraiyon Institute was one of the most select art schools on Trion; even if he’d decided to study art, he’d never have applied there. “Thank you, sir!”

“They’ll want to see some of your work, of course.”

“Of course.” That would be a problem. All of his drawings were either still in the TARDIS or back on Earth. He could always draw more, of course, but it wouldn’t be any kind of a portfolio without showing progress. Still, drawing relaxed him, and he could use relaxing right now.

Turlough lay down on his bed, although he was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep. The first night he’d changed into the shirt and vest male Trions wore, the shirt coming to mid-elbow, so it wouldn’t show the brand; criminals had their own type of clothing, with shorter sleeves. The pants, loose and gathered at the ankles, and low boots felt more comfortable than his school uniform ever had, and he felt properly dressed for the first time in three years.

They’d reach Trion tomorrow. He’d started drawing Malkon’s portrait, and he had several more ideas, although he’d have to draw from memory. The Doctor, Tegan, Nyssa, and the TARDIS exterior and console, Brendon School, which would make a good picture no matter how he’d hated it. Then perhaps a self-portrait and some landscapes or still-lifes.

He stared at the ceiling for a long while before falling asleep.

###

They’d been on Trion for a week. He and Malkon were staying in an empty house for the time being. Turlough found the familiar columns and arches comforting, although he still seldom went outside.

He’d finished all the drawings, and sent them off to the Kuraiyon Institute, with a letter to please return them; after all, he was quite proud of some of those drawings, and when he applied somewhere else (he didn’t for one minute expect to be accepted) he’d need them. Plus, he wanted to have something to remember the Doctor by.

“Come outside, Turlough.”

He looked over at Malkon. “I’d rather not.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t stay cooped up in here forever! Besides, it’s a beautiful day.”

“It’s all right for you! You didn’t do anything.”

Malkon sighed. “You heard Lomand. Political prisoners aren’t persecuted anymore. Even if they were, why would anyone recognize you? Your brand doesn’t show.”

He was right, of course. Turlough had hardly been one of the more visible figures of the war, and it had been more than three years since he was exiled. Still, the thought of going outside made his skin crawl.

But he let Malkon convince him, and followed him outside, his eyes darting into every corner, shoulders hunched, trying not to rub his arm.

“Will you calm down?! You’re not going to get shot down from the shadows, you know!” Malkon sounded exasperated.

Turlough did his best to relax. The fact that people ignored him, except for nods and the occasional smile, finally convinced him that he might be accepted here. He wasn’t going to advertise the fact that he was a former exile, but he might be able to make a life here, somehow.

Malkon noticed his relaxation and smiled. “See? Told you so.”

###

Three days later an envelope arrived, bearing the seal of the Kuraiyon Institute, a crossed paintbrush and fountain pen. Turlough removed his drawings and tossed the accompanying letter on the table.

“Aren’t you going to read it?” his brother asked curiously.

Turlough shook his head. “Why bother? I didn’t get in. I’m not good enough.”

“So why’d you apply?” Malkon asked, picking up the letter.

Turlough shrugged. “Glutton for punishment, I suppose.”

“Turlough!”

“What?”

“Read this!” Malkon said, and thrust the letter at him.

Turlough sighed and skimmed the letter, his mouth dropping open. He reread it, to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

“This is impossible!”

Not only had he been accepted…he’d been given a full scholarship for his first year. “I don’t believe this!”

His brother laughed. “I’d say this calls for a celebration, don’t you?”

Turlough felt a rare smile crossing his features. “Definitely!”


	2. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turlough receives an unexpected visitor.

Turlough opened the door to the house he’d bought with the proceeds from his art sales. It had taken him quite a while, especially since he’d had to pay tuition at school, but he finally had a home again.

Well. Not exactly a home. It was certainly nice enough; not too big, not that it needed to be, with just him. A single story, small entryway, living room, kitchen, bedroom with a small bath…

He walked into the studio. That was what had made him decide to buy this house. It was a large, airy room. One wall was entirely made up of windows, showing the trees on the street outside. There were heavy curtains, for when he’d like to use artificial lighting, now drawn back. His easel stood near the window, the half-finished charcoal still-life still on it, the model on a table nearby.

He briefly sat down, but decided that he didn’t feel like drawing right now, and went to make tea instead. It had been seven years since he’d returned to Trion. The first year had been spent at the Kuraiyon Institute. Since the yearly tuition was the equivalent of seven hundred British pounds, he’d started trying to earn money right away, selling some of his drawings.

He hadn’t liked doing that, but after he’d won several awards, some of his work had appeared in the lesser-known galleries. Not long after that people started asking him to do their portraits, and he’d fitted them in as best he could between assignments and working on other types of subjects so he wouldn’t lose his edge.

He’d managed (barely) to make enough to cover the next year’s tuition each year. Once he’d graduated he moved back to the house he’d owned originally. The city had agreed to let him and Malkon stay there as long as they needed to, as long as they kept up with the upkeep.

Malkon had got a job as a city planner, and had moved out not long after Turlough himself. As far as Turlough knew, he was now trying to earn enough money to propose to a girl he’d met two years ago.

He sighed at the thought. He was happy on Trion, but he didn’t have any real friends. He had acquaintances, and people who admired his work, but no one he could confide in.

He shook off the thoughts as being unnecessarily maudlin and finished making the tea. It was ironic that he still drank tea, given how much he’d hated England, but this was a Trion tea, spicier than most he’d tried and he quite liked it. He had just made himself a sandwich to go with it, when he heard a once-familiar sound out in the garden.

He froze. It was impossible. He could not have heard the sound of the TARDIS materializing. But a moment later there was a knock at the door.

Numbly, he went into the entryway and opened it. The TARDIS was sitting on the lawn, and there, in his cricket gear and plimsolls, looking the same as ever, was the Doctor.


	3. Reacquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turlough and the Doctor talk.

Turlough gaped at the Time Lord standing on his doorstep, as if he’d just come round after a few days’ absence. His brain seemed coated in sludge.

The Doctor fidgeted. “Hallo, Turlough.”

“Doctor,” he finally managed. “What are you _doing_ here?”

The Doctor flinched slightly and Turlough cursed himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out. Would you like to come in?” he finished awkwardly.

The Doctor nodded, and looked around with interest at the entryway and living room, with its watercolors and pastels on the walls. “Are these yours?”

Turlough nodded, feeling unaccountably shy. “Yes.”

“Well, it seems you’ve done well for yourself,” the Doctor said, sitting down.

“Doctor,” Turlough said again. “What are you doing here?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I thought I’d come visit, is all.”

“Where’s Peri?” _If she abandoned him…_

“Oh, I dropped her off on Earth some time ago,” the Doctor replied, waving a hand dismissively.

 _Some time…_ “How long has it been for you?”

The Doctor looked at the floor. “More than ten years.”

“So why show up, after all this time?”

“I wanted to see you.” The Doctor was still looking at the floor.

Ignoring the flash of pleasure at his words, Turlough changed the subject. “I was just about to have some tea, did you want some?”

###

Ten minutes later, he and the Doctor were settled in the living room with sandwiches and cups of tea.

“I see you’ve kept up with your drawing.”

Turlough smiled. “Yes. I actually have a degree from the Kuraiyon Institute.”

He hadn’t expected the Doctor to be familiar with it, but he replied, “Really? Turlough, that’s marvellous!”

He waved off the compliment, secretly pleased. Then, “Would you like to see my portfolio?”

The Doctor treated the offer with the gravity it deserved. “I’d love to.”

Turlough went into his room and fetched it. It was a proper portfolio now, done over several years, with his best work, the pieces he thought were most interesting, and some that weren’t as good as they could be.

The Doctor took it from him and flipped to the beginning; the sketch of Malkon, the self-portrait,

“This is very good.”

“Thank you.”

He looked at the picture of Brendon, then the pictures of the TARDIS and the console room, and the pen-and-ink drawings of Tegan and Nyssa.

When the next picture was a still-life he seemed almost disappointed. Turlough neglected to tell him that he’d taken the picture he’d drawn of him out of the portfolio after he’d been accepted to Kuraiyon and framed it, and that it now sat on his bedside table.

Ten minutes later, the Doctor passed it back to him. “It’s very good. I can see the improvement since you got some proper training.” He paused. “That reminds me.” He reached into his coat and took out a piece of paper. “I think you should have this back.”

Curious, Turlough took it, and smoothed it out. He was amazed to find that it was the drawing he’d done on the Eye of Orion, so long ago. The Doctor had really kept it for more than ten years? He handed it back to him. “You keep it.”

The Doctor beamed at him. “Thank you, Turlough.”

“Is Malkon here?” he asked.

Turlough shook his head. “He lives a few miles away. He’s currently trying to save up enough money to convince a girl’s father he’d be a good husband.”

The Doctor smiled slightly, then appeared to tense. “And what about you? Do you have someone?”

Turlough shrugged, and shook his head. “No.” The Doctor relaxed again at that, Turlough noticed.

“What about a trip in the TARDIS? For old times’ sake?”

Turlough looked at him, surprised. “What?”

The Doctor coughed, “Yes, well, I’ve missed having you around, and I haven’t had a Companion for several years now. It’s a bit lonely,” he finished, looking wistful.

Turlough made his decision without even thinking about it. “Why not?”

The Doctor sprang up from his chair, abruptly animated. “Splendid! Shall we go now?”

Turlough smiled. “No time like the present,” then laughed as the Doctor sighed theatrically.


	4. Ending A: Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turlough makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where it gets interesting. I wrote two different endings for this story. Here's the first one.

As Turlough walked into the TARDIS, he was suddenly overcome by a wave of nostalgia. The console room looked the same as ever, the white walls with their roundels and the console with its transparent column in the center. He’d got a new hatstand, to replace the one he’d lost on Sarn, and it stood near the door.

“Where do you want to go?”

He jumped. He’d almost forgotten the Doctor was there. He had no idea where he wanted to go at first, but after a moment’s thought a destination came to him. “Could we visit the Eye of Orion again?” Even since he’d come home, the Eye of Orion was the place he’d felt calmest, other than the TARDIS, and seeing his old sketch had made him want to visit again.

The Doctor smiled. “Certainly,” and programmed the coordinates.

For once they ended up where and when they’d intended to. They materialised in the same ruin they’d been to before. The last time they’d been there it had been spring. Now it was summer, and looked somewhat different, but it felt the same. Turlough sat down and looked out over the landscape.

The Doctor hadn’t come out, but a few minutes later he appeared, with Turlough’s old sketchbook and a pencil. “In case you want to make a drawing for yourself.”

Turlough smiled and took the sketchbook, but his mind wasn’t on his drawing. He’d wished the Doctor had come sooner, before he’d established himself. Now he had a house, if not a home, a career…a _life,_ and, ability to be back within a few hours notwithstanding, he didn’t feel right leaving it, no matter how much he wanted to. Of course, the Doctor hadn’t offered to let him stay, he realised; he’d just offered the one trip. So the matter was academic.

He sighed softly. The Doctor looked at him. “Something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” he replied quickly. “I was just thinking.”

The Doctor seemed to accept that, and they sat in comfortable silence until Turlough finished his drawing. By that time it was growing dark.

“Well, I suppose we’d better get back,” he suggested reluctantly.

“Hm, yes,” the Doctor agreed.

He was hoping that the TARDIS’ controls would malfunction and they’d end up somewhere else, even if it was dangerous, but they persisted in working exactly as they should.

“Well here we are. Trion, about two hours after you left.”

He nodded glumly. “Thank you, Doctor. It was good to see you again.”

The Time Lord coughed. “You could stay, you know. Travel with me again.”

Temptation tore at him, but he shook his head. “No. I’d like to, but I have a life here.”

The Doctor looked disappointed, but nodded in understanding. “Would you mind if I came to visit?”

“Of course not,” he replied, although he thought he really wouldn’t want to see the Doctor again, for awhile at least. Maybe not ever again. It wasn’t just giving up travelling in the TARDIS, it was the fact that the Time Lord seemed oblivious to the fact that…well, never mind. No sense wishing for the impossible.

“I guess I’d better go,” he said, not moving from where he stood.

“I suppose so.”

He turned to him. “Doctor?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you…again. For everything.”

The Doctor smiled. “You’re welcome, Turlough.”

He held out his hand, and Turlough shook it. “Doctor…?”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.” He had no idea what he’d even meant to say, but none of it would have made any difference. He turned to leave the TARDIS, then stopped at the door, turned round and went back to where the Doctor stood next to the console.

The Doctor looked briefly curious, before Turlough put a hand behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

It was stupid, he knew, but the chances that he’d see the Doctor again were remote. For all his talk of visiting, Turlough knew how absent-minded he could be. He’d forget. This might well be his last chance. Of course, now that he’d done this there was absolutely no chance that he’d see the Doctor again.

The Doctor kissed him back. His eyes flew open in surprise, then drifted closed again. When they finally pulled apart the Doctor looked at him for a moment, then said quietly, “Oh, Turlough, why didn’t you tell me?”

The sadness in his voice was palpable. Turlough shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

“You could still stay, you know.”

He shook his head. “No. I couldn’t.” He’d tried to make it easier for himself, make the Doctor take back his offer. Now he was faced with a harder choice than ever.

The Doctor looked old, suddenly, and terribly frail. “Well, goodbye, then, Turlough. Good luck.”

Turlough nodded acknowledgement. “Goodbye, Doctor. And…take care of yourself, will you?”

The Time Lord smiled sadly. “I always do.”

Turlough turned and walked out of the TARDIS, determined not to watch it dematerialise. By the time he changed his mind and looked back, it was gone.


	5. Ending B: Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turlough makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second ending to the story.

The Doctor took him to the Eye of Orion, and Turlough made another sketch. As he drew, the Doctor talked about what he had been doing since he left him on Sarn.

“Quite nice people, the Xerians, even invited me to meet their Queen.”

“Really?” Turlough asked, amused. “And nothing horrible happened?”

The Doctor looked offended. “No!” At Turlough’s look he continued. “All right, yes! There was an assassination attempt.”

“I knew it!” he gloated. “And you ended up getting blamed for it, right?”

“Surprisingly, no,” he replied. “I was able to prevent it. Now I’m something of a hero on Xeria.”

Turlough shook his head, then brought up a subject he’d been wondering about. “Peri.”

The Doctor looked at him curiously. “What about her?”

“You travelled with her for quite some time.”

“Three years, yes. Quite a nice girl, if a bit argumentative.”

He snorted. “I’d have thought you’d prefer someone with a brain. Unless of course you weren’t looking for conversation.”

“Turlough!” the Doctor said reproachfully, “Peri was quite…” he stopped. “Kindly refrain from making that kind of insinuation. I don’t have sex with my Companions!”

“So I’ve noticed,” Turlough said bitterly, then stopped, appalled at what he’d let slip. Hopefully the Doctor wouldn’t realise what his words implied.

No such luck. He should have known better. “Turlough, are you saying you…”

He cut him off, not wanting to hear him say it. “Why do you think I couldn’t kill you?”

He hadn’t started out in love with the Doctor; hadn’t even fancied him really. But the Doctor had trusted him when he had every reason not to, had treated him like something more than criminal scum or a useless brat with no family. No one had treated him like that since before the war ended, and at first it made him feel horrible. He wasn’t worthy of the Doctor’s trust and friendship, didn’t deserve it. And he’d genuinely liked the Doctor, admired him. He’d wanted his respect, and he thought he’d eventually gotten it, but he hadn’t thought of anything more than that for a long while. When he had, he’d tried to convince himself it was just lust, before finally admitting the truth to himself.

He was fiddling with his pencil, not looking at the Doctor, when gentle fingers plucked it out of his hand. He looked over to see the Doctor looking at him, not with disgust, but with something possibly even worse.

Amusement.

He glared at him and got up to leave, although where he was going he had no idea, but the Doctor’s soft voice stopped him. “Turlough.”

He turned around reluctantly and looked at the Time Lord. He got up off the grass and walked over to him. “I’m sorry. I just find it rather funny,” when Turlough opened his mouth angrily he held up a hand. “That you’ve evidently been attracted to me, at least, for…” he paused. “How long exactly?”

“I think I first admitted it to myself when we were last here and the President put you in the Death Zone, but probably before that.”

The Doctor looked surprised. “That long?”

He nodded.

“It’s been longer for you than for me, then.”

As Turlough gaped at him, he continued. “I didn’t realise it until we were stranded on that sea base. You conducted yourself rather well,” he continued.

“Uh…thank you.” He had no clue how to react to this. He’d slipped up, after all this time, and let the Doctor know how he felt, or at least that he didn’t only want friendship from him. And, rather than rejecting him out of hand, the Doctor had, admittedly rather circuitously, confessed to at least having been attracted to him, and for some time.

The silence lengthened unpleasantly. Finally the Doctor coughed and said, “You know, you could come travelling with me again.”

“Just travelling?” he asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“Yes, well, as I said, I don’t have sex with my Companions.”

Turlough nodded glumly.

“However,” the Doctor continued, his eyes twinkling, “I may just have to make an exception in your case.”


End file.
